


And Then  You

by rowofstars



Series: And Then You [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Cunnilingus, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Rough Sex, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2017, Smut, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering, rushacey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11588886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: On a forced sabbatical from teaching, Nicholas Rush heads for the tiny town of Storybrooke, Maine, hoping for peace and quiet and the chance to work on his research. What he  finds instead is Lacey French. Lacey's in a dead end job as a waitress with a abusive husband when Rush walks into her life. Over the course of his summer sabbatical the two become friends, and eventually lovers. There's more to their relationship than either of them want to admit, but Rush still has the specter of his late wife, Gloria, holding him back, and Lacey's way too good at lying to herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANG_the_nerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANG_the_nerd/gifts).



> This is for the lovely ANG, who prompted a Rushacey Waitress (the movie) AU. I didn't get to put in all the things I wanted, but I hope this still suffices. I am the worst Santa ever, in case you didn't know. I put in some timeline references since most of this story is flashback. This is only my second time writing Rush, so forgive my horrible characterization.

**Late August**

The duffel bag bounces unceremoniously onto the backseat of the rental car, the door shutting after it with a thud. It seems too loud and sharp for so early on a Sunday morning, and the lack of any passersby or any other sounds save for a few chirping birds and the wind has a strange finality to it. 

He glances up at the pink Victorian house, with a small smile. Mal’s family home is definitely not his style, but he’d gotten rather comfortable there in such a short time. Crossing to the mailbox, he opens it and drops the keys inside, then turns back to the car and bends to climb into the driver’s seat.

There is no one to see Nicholas Rush off.

There is no one on the street, no other cars, and he doubts anything except Granny’s diner is even open down on Main Street. The house is clean and the few personal items he’d accumulated during his stay are in the trash bin in the kitchen. In a few minutes, it will be as if he’d never been here at all, as if he’d never disturbed the quiet little town of Storybrooke, Maine.

He knows it isn’t entirely true, at least one person is probably forever changed by his presence, and he is quite sure it isn’t for the better. Lacey French is never going to be the same again, not with her husband in jail and a local lawyer drafting divorce papers. Certainly not now that she is essentially homeless either. He made sure to leave his name and address for Midas, slipping a piece of paper under the door of his office before he packed up the car. Paying her legal bills and helping her leave her arsehole husband is the least he can do after upending her life.

_Go home, Nick. It was fun, but it was never going to last._

Her words ring in his ears, making his neck burn and his chest ache. None of it was supposed to be permanent, and it’s probably a miracle it lasted more than a couple frenzied, adulterous nights. Inside he’s a jumble mess of feelings he doesn’t want to deal with, and knowing that he’s heading back home to California, having them at all feels like even more of a betrayal. A betrayal of whom though, he isn’t sure anymore. Both Lacey and Gloria have every right to hate him, he is an absolute bastard after all, and it’s a small favor that he’ll never have to look either of them in the eye again.

The discovery he made about his work, about what went wrong with Icarus has made him restless. It’s something that can’t wait, not if there’s a chance to resurrect the project and give it new direction. If the result of the university board’s inquiry is that he’s terminated, then so be it. He will still have a purpose in Icarus, and that’s what he needs now. Purpose and distraction.

Rush sits behind the steering wheel for a long moment, watching the first few drops of rain splatter and trickle down the windshield, before starting the car. The weather mirrors his dark mood. He keeps his eyes on the road, but as he passes the last shop on Main Street and heads out of town, his mind is elsewhere.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Late May**

 

His so called sabbatical is probably just a formality on the way to firing him. While there are moments where he resents Mal for forcing him into it, it’s ultimately his own fucking fault. In hindsight, he hasn’t been handling things well since the abrupt termination of the Icarus project, but telling off the head of the department and then throwing a chair through a window is always a bad career move. He’s lucky Mallory stepped in and offered this chance for some time away, even if it was on the condition that he actually _go away._

Once he is out on the road heading north, crossing from Massachusetts into New Hampshire, it starts to feel almost freeing. He doesn’t have to worry about preparing new syllabi or grading exams. There are no meetings, no office hours, and hopefully no distractions. He glances to the side at his satchel, the pile of papers and his laptop stretching the leather to its limit. If he’s very very lucky he might make headway on something, publish a paper in the spring, and be somewhat redeemed. At least academically. There are things he carries which cannot be forgiven.

The tall, dense trees loom over the sides of the road and cast strange shadows. It reminds him of the drive he and Gloria took up the coast to Washington one summer. It was the first trip they’d taken in years, and later would turn out to be their last. He hated everything about traveling in general, but something about his wife’s bright smile and her hair shining in the sunlight made it more than worthwhile. 

A sign up ahead announces another S curve, and Rush squints. The setting sun pierces the windshield of his rental car as he rounds the first corner, hitting him right in the eyes. His head is starting to hurt, though he supposes that’s more from the hours of flying, driving, and lack of caffeine than the glare of the sun. He glances at the clock on the dashboard and sighs. It’s just after eight and he’s already knackered, but his destination is only a few more miles away.

Another green road sign welcomes him to the town of Storybrooke, and he slows the car as the highway gives way to a quaint, traditional Main Street, lined with storefronts. Ahead on the right is a glowing red sign that says Granny’s Diner, with an arrow pointing towards a light gray building. Diners always have coffee, and even bad coffee sounds like the best thing in the world right now.

The place is empty when he walks in and the interior looks like something right out of the 1950s, complete with a chrome soda fountain behind the counter. The white formica tables have a slight sparkle and the vinyl booths shine red in the bright fluorescent light. A woman comes out between two swinging doors with a stack of plates in her hands. Her uniform is comprised of a white button down shirt that’s tied off instead of tucked in, showing off her navel, and the shortest red shorts he’s ever seen. He can’t see her feet but the clicking against the tile floor suggests heels. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, the mass of brunette curls swaying as she walks along behind the counter.

Rush blinks. The whole thing is surreal. If it wasn’t for the scandalously short skirt, he would think he’s gone back in time.

The woman sets the plates down and shivers, her whole body shaking as she rubs her hands up and down her arms. “Hey there, welcome to Granny’s,” she says, stepping up to the counter. “Can I get you something?”

“Coffee?” he replies, his eyes widening as they meet hers. They’re very blue but tinged red at the edges with dark circles underneath. She looks like she’s been tired for a long time, a feeling Rush knows all too well.

“Sure thing.” She’s already turning around to the set of tall metal coffee urns behind her. A few seconds later she facing him again and setting down a plain white mug. “Milk, cream, sugar?”

She nudges a small dish of sugar and sweetener packets towards him. Next to them is a collection of half and half cups mixed with some kind of flavored creamer.

Rush glances up at her as he moves to sit on the nearest stool. “Nothing, thank you.”

He blows over the rim and takes a small, quick sip, biting back a groan at the sensation of the hot coffee gliding down his throat. It’s actually really good coffee, and he’s very thankful because there’s probably not a real barista for fifty miles.

A little while later, after she serves a few more late evening customers, workers from the local mine he overhears, she comes back to offer him a refill. He nods and doesn’t look up from the calculations he’s been using to distract himself from watching her walk around the place. The sway of her hips was becoming entirely too mesmerizing, and he’s not sure why. He chalks it up to feeling out of his element, and being so far away from home and anything remotely fucking familiar. His brain needs to focus on something, so it picked her. That’s all.

He notices her name tag says Lacey, which ends up drawing his attention to her chest. He lifts the mug and takes a small, cautious sip, trying to avoid any further realization about just how small her white blouse is and how few buttons are holding it closed. He can feel his face flush a bit, but silently insists it's the scalding hot coffee and not the fact that he’s actually noticing a woman for the first time in - well, a very long time, anyway. 

Rush sighs and sits back, his spine pulling and popping in three different places as he stretches. He’s supposed to pick up the key to Mal’s place from a woman named Martha Lucas, but he was too tired to track down an old woman right now. His headache has mostly abated, but it’s left a lingering stiffness behind in his neck and shoulders. Caffeine had not been the answer. “Is there a place to stay the night?”

“Sure,” Lacey says, flatly. She jabs a thumb to the side as she straightens. “Right next door is Granny’s inn.”

“How convenient,” he mutters, flipping his notebook closed. He slides off the stool and pulls out his wallet, tossing a few bills on the counter. He’s sure that’s more than enough to cover his two cups of coffee, and he supposes that young women stuck in small towns, working at diners after nine o’clock at night should get decent tips. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Lacey snatches up the money, moving to the register to close his tab. She peels off the singles and tucks them in the pocket of her apron. “Yeah,” she says, giving him a small, tired wave. “See you around stranger.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s three days before he sees her again, and by that time he’s already mostly settled into a pink Victorian that’s entirely too big for one person.

“Black, just like your soul?” she quips, the corner of her mouth curving as she sets a mug on the counter.

Rush picks it up, smirking. “Aye.” 

Lacey leans forward on her elbows and watches as he scribbles some annotations in his little notebook.

“What’s that?” she asks, stretching her torso over the counter.

Rush looks to the side, spying her through a curtain of his shaggy hair. She’s wearing a wedding ring and he can’t recall if he noticed that first night or not. He pauses with the tip of his pencil touching the paper poised to draw another integral sign. “Math,” he says shortly.

She snorts and shakes her head. “Yeah, I can see that. Thanks, _Einstein_.”

She moves down the line to another customer, and he resumes working his way through his notes with a slight smile on his face.

The next day when he sees her there are marks on her right arm and a spot above her eye that appears swollen. His eyes keep darting to the ring on her finger, a small, round diamond solitaire with a plain band behind it, and he wonders what kind of arsehole she’s been saddled with and if that’s the reason why she hasn’t said more than four words to him.

Rush isn’t an idiot. He may not care for people in general, but he has no tolerance for men who would abuse a woman or a child. But he also knows it’s not his place.

He’s counting out money to leave on the table for her, when a man comes in. Lacey goes to him immediately, and though their voices are hushed, he can see they’re arguing. The man grabs her arm roughly, and Rush watches, digging his nails into his palm as he stares daggers at the back of the man’s head. Lacey catches his eye as he goes to leave, and he pauses with the door half open for a moment before stepping out into the summer heat.

The look in her eyes keeps him from falling asleep that night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Early June**

Granny’s becomes something of a routine for Rush. He’s been in Storybrooke for three weeks, and for most of it he’s kept to himself. There was a point last week where he was hit with another headache, and he realized that he’d been living off coffee and cigarettes for three days. He figured coming to the diner for lunch would ensure he ate at least one real meal a day, but staying until Lacey’s shift ends at three has become an inexplicable habit.

It’s not as if he gets a lot of work done, or that he likes to be around people. It just feels better being here than hanging out in a massive, old house all by himself. He thought it would be ideal, at first, but the place has started to feel oppressive and the strange creaks and noises keep distracting him. From the corner booth at Granny’s he can work on parts of his research, keep up a steady stream of very palatable coffee, and occasionally people watch.

Mostly, he just watches Lacey.

The man, who he assumes was her husband, hasn’t appeared again, and it seems that she’s just moved on as though nothing happened. Eventually the bruises fade, but her ring remains.

She likes to sit across from him sometimes, on her break just after lunch. She talks about nothing in particular, the weather, movies, or the small town rumormill. He chimes in now and then, if she pauses to pop another onion ring in her mouth, or if she says something completely ridiculous. Yesterday she went on about the purple elephant shitting on his car until he stopped and looked up. He knows she does it on purpose to see if he’s paying attention. If he ever says something incongruent she never mentions it, and the whole thing is strangely comfortable.

“So where’s your wife?” Lacey asks on a rainy Thursday.

Rush stops with his pencil halfway through drawing a sigma symbol. The tip breaks under the slight pressure and he swears. Her fork clatters to the plate, and he lets his head drop as he takes a steadying breath.

“She’s gone,” he manages. 

He hopes she knows what that means, hopes it’s enough for her to drop it and never bring it up again. He imagines this is what she might feel like too. There’s a fresh bruise on her thigh, just at the edge of her skirt.

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “Oh.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Mid-June**

 

The Rabbit Hole is Storybrooke’s only bar.

Rush blinks and rubs his eyes as he steps inside. There’s a haze to the air in the place and a tinge of something burnt, despite there being no smoking allowed.

He has no idea why he’s here. He could just as easily buy a bottle of something passable at Clark’s drugstore or the grocer. It wouldn’t be the fine whiskey that Mal keeps in her office, or the expensive wine that still fills the nook in his kitchen at home, bottles that Gloria bought ages ago. But it would definitely get him drunk.

He spies Lacey bending over a pool table at the far end of the room. Her blue blouse gapes open as she lines up her shot, and a dribble of condensation runs over his thumb and drips to the floor. He watches her clear the table in ten minutes, her opponent never getting a chance to even touch the cue chalk. She laughs and looks around at the small crowd that’s gathered, then saunters to a nearby table to down a shot of something.

Lacey takes the money from Keith, making a point to snatch it from his fingers and count it in front of him. His glare is really all the payment she needs, but the extra cash is good for her emergency fund. She's got a decent amount in there now, but she knows leaving won't be easy. When she turns to head back to the bar, she spies Rush across the room. His eyes are fixed on her, and the corner of his mouth is curved slightly.

She licks her lips and gives him a wave, which he returns, surprisingly. He’s so hard to read sometimes that she can’t tell if he actually likes her, or if she could just as well be Leroy sitting there nattering on about whatever. There have been moments where she wondered, where she thought too long about his eyes, his hair, his mouth. There have been nights too, recently, but she isn’t ready to acknowledge that just yet, not even to herself.

They meet at the bar, and he smiles. “That was quite a show.”

“Thanks,” she says, feeling oddly elated that he was there to see the whole thing. “Not that Keith’s much competition, but he has a problem with his mouth writing checks the rest of him can’t begin to cash and I’m happy to teach him as many lessons as he’d like.”

Rush laughs. “What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey,” Lacey answers, and she realizes in the month he’s been here she’s never heard him laugh before. 

He orders their drinks and they move to one of the tables against the wall. It’s a spot she likes because she can see most of the room and still be in the shadows. He’s talking about something, something about a friend and a billiards tournament in college, but her gaze is lingering on the open buttons of his shirt, distracting her. His voice is nice though, even if she only catches every third word, his accent thicker than usual. It might be the alcohol or he might just not care anymore if he sounds ridiculously Scottish.

She kisses him first.

He seems surprised when she pulls him against her in the short hallway leading to the men’s room. His hand fists in her hair as he presses her into the wall next to a poster for the library fundraiser. The floor’s dirty, the wall’s dirty, everything about this is dirty, but she likes it, likes how hard and wet his mouth is and the scrape of his teeth over her neck.

The vague sound of billiard balls clattering and the strained tones of Springsteen mix with the low rumbling of his voice in her ear, asking if she's sure she wants this. She hisses a yes against the skin of his throat, loving the way he gasps as she teases it with her tongue.

“Your place?” she asks, and the question lingers between them like their hot, panting breath.

He swallows, and knows this is it, one of those moments he can’t take back. “Yeah.”

He moves first, running a hand through his hair as he steps out of the shadows and walks over to the bar to close out their tab. She counts a full minute and then follows, striding quickly to the table where she left her purse.

Rush leaves the Rabbit Hole, his stomach in a knot. It was one thing to kiss her in the dark, in the back hallway of a bar, where they can both pretend that maybe it was just the alcohol. It’s entirely another to agree to take her back to his place. They’re both - well, he’s not married, not anymore, even if he sometimes feels like he is. But she definitely is, to a man who clearly mistreats her. Later he’ll wonder if that was it the whole time, if she latched on to him to get her out of a bad situation. 

He’ll be wrong, of course.

She comes out a few minutes later, and they take his rental to the stately, pink house. The drive is quiet, but her hand doesn’t leave his thigh, the motion of her thumb burning through his jeans and making him half hard by the time they get there.

Rush shoves her against the wall inside the door, kissing her until she's practically climbing him, wrapping her legs around his waist while she claws at his shirt. They make it to the bedroom mostly clothed. Their shirts are lost somewhere between the top of the stairs and here, and they spend a few anxious, wordless minutes dispensing with the rest. She sits on the edge of the bed, watching him push his jeans down, and then his boxers, licking her lips at the sight of his cock. He steps forward to stand between her open legs and she looks up at him, waiting.

His hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing her lips before he says. “Turn around.”

Lacey nips at the pad of his thumb and grins, then scoots back on the bed, turning over until she’s on all fours.

The tip of his cock pushes inside her and she wiggles her ass, begging for more with her forearms digging into the mattress. Rush groans and slips inside her in one smooth stroke. She gasps, and he presses his palm flat against her back, pushing her forward a little bit more so he can go even deeper. 

She’s wet and sticky and tight, much too tight, and he can feel her stretch around him, little squeaks and gasps falling from her mouth when he starts to move. It’s slow and steady at first, but then she’s moving too, faster and harder, slamming her ass into his hips, showing him how she needs it, and Rush is happy to oblige. He needs it this way too, needs it to be rough and angry, nothing like it should be, or that she deserves. It has to be different so he can lock it away and keep it separate from how it was before.

Lacey bites her lip and digs at the sheets. Her ring feels tight on her finger, heavy, and she can’t look at it. She’ll be raw and sore in the morning, but then she’ll remember how he feels right now, touch herself and ache for him all over again.

His fingers are biting into her skin, holding on as tight as he can while they move at an almost violent pace. There will be bruises, on both of them tomorrow, evidence that this happened, that it was real. But they’ll fade, as these things do.

He leans over her; reaches around to rub her clit until she cries out and clenches around him. The sensation makes him come too, whispering _sweetheart_ over and over against her sweaty skin.

It’s the first time he calls her that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part is a flashback. It lines up with the first section in chapter 1, where Rush is leaving town, but it's set about a month after he leaves.

**Early September**

Lacey sighs and leans over the table to grab an errant fork, dropping it into the plastic bin with the other dishes. Then she frowns and folds her rag over the end of a finger to scrub angrily at a crusted splatter of ketchup that’s probably been there since last night. Ruby’s always a little sloppy with the last clean up when it’s near closing time. With a quiet grunt, she hefts the bin onto her hip and strides around the counter to head back to the kitchen. 

The lunch rush is over and she has time to think again, time to replay things in her mind and wish the outcome were different. She sets the bin down in the big sink and squeezes the rag in her hand. Her nails dig into it, squishing gray water over her wrist before throwing it down on top of the dirty dishes. With another sigh, she turns on the water and washes her hands. Most of the bruises are gone, and in another month or so this chapter of her life will be behind her.

She’s not sure what she’s going to do after that, where she goes from failed marriage in a dead end town. There was a moment when she thought she knew, when she was laying in a soft bed with the sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains, his burr in her ear, soft and low as she orgasmed. But now -

Lacey huffs and pushes through the doors back into the dining room. Rush has been gone almost a month. He left her, and there’s nothing she can do about it, no matter how much it frustrates her. It’s not like she didn’t encourage him though. He showed up at her apartment, trying to apologize, and she didn’t want to listen. It had seemed so clear then, that it was all a sham, a way to pass the summer and fuck up her shitty life. Of course he was always going to leave, of course she’d always be stuck here. It had felt like anything else might unbalance the whole fucking universe or something.

She’s wiping down the counters and tables when she finds it. She had missed a couple dollars on one of the tables, left by Mr. Clark who owns the drug store. Her hand slid into the front pocket of her apron and there it was. The creases are worn from being opened and refolded a few times, and the paper has lost most of its crispness leaving it slightly yellowed and soft. She swallows and unfolds it carefully, laying it on the table and smoothing it flat with her palms. Her eyes close for a moment and she can’t help the smile as a memory comes flooding back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Early July**

Rush tears a sheet off her order pad and flips it over, his pencil moving quickly over it, letters and numbers and symbols. She understands little of it. His shirt is the same one he wore yesterday, and he looks like he hasn’t slept much.

“What are you doing?” she asks as he nears the bottom of the small piece of paper.

He sighs and frowns. “I thought I had something, but -”

“But?”

He crumples the page in his hand and makes a frustrated noise. Then he throws it towards the tray of coffee mugs. It bounces off the edge and lands in one of them, but he doesn’t notice.

“Nice shot,” she mutters. Then she fishes out the paper and unravels it, smoothing it against the counter.

Rush is nattering on about gravity fluctuations, and she has no idea what that has to do with his foul mood, but he’d been this way for the past week. They haven’t said anything about what is happening between them, and she’s not even sure what could be said. They meet up at the Rabbit Hole, they have a drink or two, they go back to his place and fuck. It’s simple. 

They don’t call it what it is, an _affair_. Adultery. Cheating on a memory.

She looks down at the wrinkled paper and tilts her head. “Did you lose a y somewhere?”

Rush lifts his head and blinks. “What?”

Lacey pushes the paper towards him. “Look advanced calculus is obviously not my thing, but I did set the curve in my algebra class, and, well, you had a y here and then you just like lost it?”

He stares at the paper for a moment and then shakes his head. “Fuck,” he mutters as he leans back against the booth. “I’m a fucking idiot!”

His outburst draws a few stares, but luckily at two in the afternoon there’s hardly anyone around.

She shrugs. “You’re tired. You need to take a break.”

Rush rubs his eyes and then runs a hand down his face. His cheeks feel scruffier than usual, and he probably needs a shower, but he was on a roll last night and success has been hard to come by lately.

“Yeah,” he sighs. Then he scowls down at the paper and makes a note with his pencil. “You’re right though. I just lost the variable all together like some first year moron.”

Lacey laughs. “Well, I’ll try not to let it go to my head that I found a mistake in the great Dr. Nicholas Rush’s work.”

Rush gives her a look, and then glances around before reaching his hand across the table to touch hers. She turns her hand over and slides her fingers through his, giving him a squeeze before pulling away. 

“Did you ever think about going to school?” he asks tentatively. He knows that she’s smarter than she lets on most of the time, keeping her wit to cutting sarcasm and billiards. She’s capable of so much more than this, and he hates to see good minds wasted.

She huffs and purses her lips, picking at the chipped blue polish on her nails. “I did,” she admits, “but, you know, school costs money.”

“I do know,” he says. It’s not like he could have afforded it either. “But there are scholarships. You’re smart, Lace, you could -”

“I did,” she interrupts. “I, um, I had a scholarship.”

Rush sits forward. “For what? Why didn't you go?”

“It was for dance.” She keeps her eyes on the table as she says it, glancing at him only briefly to see his reaction. His head tilts slightly, his brow knit. “I thought maybe - I don’t know.”

“Thought what?”

His voice is soft, and she bites her lip. When he sounds like that she wants to tell him everything.

“I thought I wanted to do something artistic,” she explains. “Like fashion or design. But the dancing, the performing, to keep my scholarship? It was all just too much. I didn’t love it anymore once it felt like a job, you know?” He was still looking at her, his dark eyes piercing through her, like he saw so much more than she wanted him to. 

She rolls her eyes. “Besides, the world doesn’t need another art or music major, right?”

“Nonsense.” Rush frowns. “Everything has value. Every occupation. Not always in the same situations, you wouldn’t want a writer trying to redo your plumbing, but that doesn’t make what the writer writes worthless. And I happen to know there is a great deal of skill in dance, just like there is with music. Timing, counting. Harmonics as well. It’s all math, right?” 

Lacey’s eyes are bright and there’s a lump in her throat blocking the words she wants to say. He shrugs, and she can’t help herself. She slides out of the booth and comes around to his side, pushing him towards the wall so she can sit. He’s staring back at her, wide eyed and surprised.

She kisses him and it’s different. The few times before has been hard, rough, all teeth and tongues and pushing each other against walls. This is soft and full of - _something_. Her mouth catches his bottom lip, pulling gently, her tongue brushes it once and then it’s gone. She’s gone. His eyes open and he is alone, the door behind the counter swinging back and forth on its hinges.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Early September**

The paper crumples under Lacey’s hand, her nails digging in and tearing the middle. She doesn’t stop until it’s shredded all the way down, and then she balls it up in her hands, angrily squeezing it against her palm.

She throws it towards the trash can by the register, and misses.

“Fuck,” she breathes, leaning forward on the counter. Her breath is suddenly ragged, her heart slamming in her chest and grabs for the stack of napkins, wrinkling them as well and throwing them in the trash. 

“Fucking fuck him!”

Granny ducks her head out through the order window. “You okay, Lacey?”

Lacey sighs and her shoulders sag. Granny’s face is nothing but kind concern, and for some reason that stings. She doesn’t want to feel this way about Rush at all. She doesn’t want to care, and she doesn’t want pity for it either.

A tear slips from the corner of her her but she wipes it away. “Fine,” she says, turning to Granny and forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

The old woman doesn’t look convinced, giving Lacey a small frown before she goes. Lacey sinks down to the floor and buries her face in her hands. There’s no one in the diner right now and if she pops up unexpectedly she’s sure she can play it off. Plenty of people in this town already have a low opinion of her anyway. Who cares if they think she was sitting on the floor crying.

Just like that the front door opens and she hears Leroy and Mike chatting as they come in from their swing shift at the mine. She smoothes her hair back and rubs her eyes. No one said anything about bruises on her arms and face for the last two years, what’s a little red eye?

Later, as she’s ringing up Leroy’s bill, her foot kicks the balled up paper sending it bouncing across the floor. Leroy frowns, then bends and picks it up.

Lacey’s left hand clenches into a fist while she holds out his change with the other. 

What’s this?” he says unfolding the paper. It’s torn in several places and almost as wrinkled as his shirt, but it’s readable. He blows out a low whistle. “Damn, sister. This looks complicated.”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Mid July**

“So, you’re married,” Rush says.

 _Finally_ , she thinks, giving her ring a cursory glance. Most days she doesn’t even notice it. Putting it on in the morning is habit. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just continues to work the numbers across the page. He’s got a bigger notebook now, three subject, having filled up and ruined the smaller one.

“And I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s a fucking asshole.” She twirls the straw in her glass of iced tea, watching the liquid swirl around in a little whirlpool.

Rush makes a half laugh, half grunting noise. “Then why are you with him?”

She sighs and sits back. “Same reason most women are, I suppose. He used to be sweet, I thought he was _the one_. Plus he owns our apartment and once my dad found out I wasn’t a pure little virgin perfect daughter anymore, he kicked me out. So I stayed with Garrett and just - never left I guess. He’s out of town a lot for work so it’s been easy to do whatever I want without him knowing. Neither of us have any friends in this town.”

He frowns. She knows as well as he does that none of those are good enough reasons, but he can see how a lot of people in Storybrooke just pass her over, look at her without really seeing. There’s a bruise by her eye again and he wonders how many of them have even noticed it.

“I’ve got a stash though,” Lacey says quietly. “I'm - I’m going to leave.”

Rush lifts his head and sets down his pencil. She’s staring at him, and he swallows. There’s an unspoken question between them.

She gasps when her back hits the wall just inside her apartment door.

It’s the first time she’s brought Rush or anyone other than Ruby here. It’s small but cozy, and she cleaned it that morning. Garrett’s in Florida for the week, and she wonders why she hasn’t done this before, why she hasn’t brought another lover home and fucked them in their bed. It feels like the ultimate fuck you, and she smiles.

Rush’s hands are in her hair, fingers curling in the strands and pulling just a little, and his body is pressed flush against hers. His lips drag over hers, open and hot, teasing a little before he kisses her properly, and she moans into his mouth, the lingering taste of coffee rolling over her tongue. When he pulls back, his teeth catch her bottom lip, scraping lightly, and he must like whatever noise she makes because he’s smirking down at her.

She raises an eyebrow. “So is this some like student teacher thing?” she asks, grinning. Her hips lift off the wall to push against his and she can feel his erection heavy against her thigh.

He laughs, low and a little dark. “You’ve never been my student,” he replies. 

His hand moves to her thigh, lifting it until her leg is almost wrapped around his waist, and then he pushes hard, grinding the seam of his jeans against her and making her gasp with the friction. 

“But I could be,” she says, smiling, her fingers pulling at his shirt. “I think I’d fucking kill it at physics.”

Rush presses a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw. “I’m sure you would.” He means it.

“Would you like that?” she asks, undoing the last button and running her hands up his bare chest. “Me sitting in the front row of your class every day? Short skirts, no panties?”

He groans and laughs at the thought because he knows what sweet torture that would be. “I do have some self control, you know.”

It’s her turn to laugh because they both know it’s a lie.

She remembers the last time at his place, just a couple of nights ago. She loved the sound he made when his cock slid in her mouth for the first time, the living room rug biting at her knees when she pushed herself forward. He swore when the tip hit the back of her throat, and she came hard to the movement of her own fingers when he pulled her hair.

Neither of them have any self control when it comes to each other and this. And that should scare the hell out of her.

He presses against her again and she bites her lip, letting out only the tiniest of gasps before he lets her leg drop. Then his hand is yanking the zipper on the side of her skirt down, and she sighs as he steps back, the cool air of the room hitting her fevered skin. He kneels, pulling down the red skirt and her panties with him, until she’s bare and her clothes are tossed over by her couch. He stops a moment, palms rubbing over her thighs, easing them apart as his thumbs touch the sticky wetness clinging to her folds.

They haven’t moved from the door yet, but he’s on his knees between her legs, tongue sliding over her clit. Her hand fists in his hair, her back arches, and she wonders what she tastes like to him that he likes doing this so much. He hums against her cunt, the vibrations shuddering over her sensitive skin as his tongue curls into her briefly, darting in and out a few times just to drive her mad with want. It makes her want him inside her again, spreading her open and seeing how deep he can go, but then there are his fingers, two of them, pushing into her.

Her hips roll against his mouth and hand, and he sucks on her clit, slipping a third finger inside, wanting to make her come. He loves that he can do this to her, and that she lets him, that all it takes is a lingering look for them to know what comes next.

Her hand tugs at his hair and he knows she’s close, slows his fingers and pulls his mouth away, licking the tangy sweetness of her off his lips.

“ _Fuck_ , Lacey, I love how you taste,” he says, working his fingers deep into her. “Love how wet you get for me.”

She cries out in frustration, loving and hating it when he keeps her on edge like this.

“Are you like this for him?” he wonders out loud. 

It’s been bothering him all these weeks. If she’s seeking him out because her abusive arse of a husband can’t or won’t satisfy her, because she has no other options, or if there’s something more. He can’t decide which he’d rather it be, but there’s a tight, sick feeling in his gut that maybe this means nothing to her, even as he tells himself it’s nothing to him.

She bites her lip and wants to resist answering, doesn’t want him to know how badly she needs him, how no one else has ever made her this crazy. “No,” she gasps, “for you.”

He grins against her thigh and his hand speeds up again, thumb rubbing her clit until she comes. He laps at the moisture spread on the inside of her thighs, and then stands, offering her his fingers. She moans around them as she sucks them into her mouth, her hands already working at his belt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rush comes to a conclusion and Lacey gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smutty conclusion! Of course. I hope this has met your expectations. Thanks for letting me be your Santa, ANG.

**Early September**

 

Rush sighs and picks at the frayed patch of denim on his knee. He’s been replaying every conversation, every moment with Lacey in his mind since he got back to California. It's like a humming in his head, drowning out the gentle sounds of the breeze and the rustling leaves in the garden. He can tell it had taken a lot of courage for her to even ask, and he was a bit surprised it hadn’t already come up in all his time in Storybrooke. Of course he’d done the stupidest thing imaginable, the worst possible fucking thing he could have done because he was, basically, an arsehole who fucked up everything that wasn’t math.

Well, he fucked that up too sometimes, but _this_ was worse.

Something had struck him in that moment, and it was like every word he ever knew, including all the curse words he so readily flung at his walls of calculations, fled his mind. He’d stammered and waved his hands, paced back and forth behind her sofa, and then he’d just - left. Like a coward. He went back the next day to try apologize, but she told him exactly what he needed to hear. It meant nothing. It wasn't going to last. So he packed everything up and left Storybrooke.

Now he's sitting on the back steps of the house he’d shared with Gloria for over a decade, staring out at the garden like he has almost every night since he arrived home. She had designed and taken care of it since shortly after they moved in, up until she’d been confined to the hospital. He's been paying a sizable monthly fee to a landscaping company to maintain it like some kind of memorial to the past. His head feels fuzzy, his mind unable to focus on anything but the scent of roses wafting on the breeze. 

It’s been four years since Gloria died. Four years in which he’s gone from the depths of grief and depression, to nearly losing his job, to meeting Lacey and feeling like he was finally himself again. Maybe better. Maybe he’s actually come out of the other side of the worst day of his life a better person. Somehow. Or maybe he’d just finally given enough of a shit to try.

Rush snorts and kicked a smooth oval rock off the bottom step. It skitters across the paving stones and lands in the grass. He sighs again.

“ _Will you tell me about her?_ ”

How are you supposed to describe the person you thought was your soulmate? How do you explain that they understood you better than you did yourself? How do you talk about the destruction they left behind by their leaving, the shards scattered around that used to be you? 

And how the hell do you tell that to the person who wasn’t afraid to approach you, who accepted all your rough, angry edges, and who put you back together piece by piece without even knowing that’s what they were doing?

_Some people live their whole lives and never find what we had._

He can hear Gloria’s voice like it was five minutes ago, like he’d just walked out of that hellish hospital room. He sniffs and swallows, swearing that he can still smell that noxious sterile scent. It smelled like people waiting to die, like hopelessness and loss.

Rush takes a deep breath and closed his eyes. Nothing about this summer was normal, and now he’s just supposed to go back to work on Monday, back to class and teaching and research. Back to his life, such as it is. He has to present his new findings on Icarus in a week, and he should be in his office going over every calculation for the tenth time. But he’s here, staring at some plants and trying to sort out his fucking life.

“She was -,” he says out loud. Then he frowns and looks around into the small yard thoughtfully. A crow cocks its head at him and then flies off. He sighs again. “She was a force.”

Rush smiles. 

Yes, that was the best way to describe Gloria. They had enough similarities that they got on well, but to most they looked like complete opposites. He was - _is_ \- always a barely approachable misanthrope, while she was polite and thoughtful. They were both intense when it came to their work and very focused, but where he knows he can be too single minded when he gets into something, Gloria was more steady and even. She could obsess, certainly, but it was metered out over days and weeks of practice and contemplation instead of 36 hour binges with too much caffeine and no sleep.

Gloria was beautiful, smart, and funny. She was light and happiness in his otherwise dark, mundane world. The house still feels empty without her. It has become a place he existed, occasionally, and slept, sometimes. The couch in his office at the university probably gave him more good hours than his expensive memory foam mattress here. The house is just here, just a remnant, a memory best left in its fucking box.

The time he’d spent in that pink Victorian had started to feel comfortable. It was strange how in just four months he’d gotten so used to the trees and the clean air and the warm glow when the sun hit the windows in the study. If he closes his eyes he can see Lacey there on the sofa while he worked, her nose in a book, or sitting across from him at the diner, smirking about some joke she’d made at his expense and stealing fries off his plate. With Lacey everything had felt lighter and more vibrant again.

With Lacey, he felt - _alive_.

Just thinking about Gloria weighs him down and leaves a hollow ache in his chest. He’d gone to the cemetery yesterday morning after not having been there since the day of her funeral. He’d taken flowers and stood there staring at the headstone, not really knowing why. It seemed like the thing people did when they lost the love of their life, but it was an empty gesture. The walk back to the house was long and by the time he made it in the door his whole body hurt from trying hold in his tears.

The worst part is all he can think about was Lacey and how he’d left things. How he’d just plain left. She’d reached out to him, tried to understand him and the burdens he carried, and he’d just fucked off back to California, to the university and a job that his heart wasn’t in anymore. He rubs the back of his neck and tries not to think about that first time, how he’d pushed her against the wall, her smell, and the feeling of her legs wrapping around his waist.

The pain only seemed to dull when he was with Lacey. He had let the empty places full up for a while with her bright eyes, her laugh, and that endearing way she would bite her lip when she was thinking. She probably hates him, but he needs to talk to her, to explain if he can. He owes the truth to her, just as he’d owed it to Gloria when she lay there hooked up to so many machines. He hadn’t been brave enough to face things then, not really. Now maybe he can keep his shit together long enough to say what needs to be said.

Rush exhales and stands up, pulling open the back screen door and stepping inside. It snaps closed and he pushes the inside door shut as well, turning the deadbolt. He has come to some sort of conclusion sitting on the steps, like working back through the lines of an equation to find an error, and now he needs to get back to Lacey as soon as possible. It will mean flying across the country again, and driving up those winding roads to Storybrooke. It’s madness, but he has to try, he has to make things right. If she’ll let him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Two Days Later**

 

Lacey slumps against the couch and angrily jabs her thumb at the channel button on the remote. The paper she’d found in her apron pocket a couple weeks back is sitting on her coffee table next to a letter from her lawyer. A lawyer Nicholas Rush is apparently paying for. She pawned her ring yesterday for a lousy 500 bucks, and she has to be out of the apartment in a week. All part of the requirements for a quick divorce and a restraining order, but she has a voicemail from Mallory Vincent that a certain pink house is available if she needs it. Rush is responsible for that to, she assumes.

 _Fuck him_ , she thinks. 

She sniffles and then swears, pushing up off the couch. She moves towards the kitchen to refill her wine glass, but stops when she hears a knock at her door. It comes again when she failed to move, but she stands there, staring.

“Lacey?” comes Rush’s voice.

She nearly drops her glass. She never thought she’d hear that sound again, and her feet take one, unconscious step towards the door before she stops. She closes her eyes and turns away. 

_No._

“Lacey!” he calls out again, thumping his fist against the door three more times. “Please open the door.”

She swallows and turns back, crossing the space and putting her hand on the deadbolt before she knows what she’s doing. Her forehead leans against the wall beside the door, but her hand doesn’t move. When he knocks again, she can feel the thudding vibrate through her palm.

“C’mon, Lace!” he pleads. 

Then his voice drops. It was still louder than normal, but only so she could hear him through the door, like he knows she’s standing there undecided about opening it. 

“I want to tell you about Gloria.” 

His voice breaks a bit on her name, and Lacey feels her chest tighten again. She knows how hard it is to open up about these things. Sometimes she can barely say her mother’s name without wanting to cry, which is pretty unfortunate considering the new girl at the diner is named Collette.

“She was beautiful, and smart, and amazing,” he continues. “And I loved her, very much.”

Lacey squeezes her eyes shut, refusing to cy. She wants to scream at him to shut up and go home. It’s okay that he still loves his dead wife, she just doesn’t want to hear about it. She wishes Garrett was dead, that he was her great lost love so she can understand half of what Rush must feel. That might make it better, she thinks, it might make it hurt less.

She’s always been excellent at lying to herself.

“But she’s not _you_ , Lacey,” Rush says, hoping his voice is making it through the gap in the door. 

Hoping that the shadow he saw a few seconds ago is really Lacey and not the curtains fluttering or a trick of the light, hopes he isn’t talking to an empty room like a fucking idiot. Then there is a sharp click, and he steps back. The door swings open partway and Lacey moves into the space, looking like she’s barely holding things together. 

Rush feels like shit. He wonders if he should have come at all and opened wounds that hadn’t even healed yet. “Hey.”

Lacey wraps her arms around herself, her hands pulling back into the oversized sweatshirt. “Hey.”

Rush looks her up and down. She looks so small and fragile, and all he wants is to hold her. “Can I come in?”

Against her better judgement, she nods and steps aside, and Rush follows after her, shutting the door behind him. She takes a seat at one end of the sofa and clicks off the TV before tossing the remote on the coffee table.

“So,” she snaps, “you’re in.”

Rush rubs his palms against his jeans, unsure if he is welcome to sit closer to her or not. He opts for the middle cushion, halfway between the other end of the sofa and her legs.

“Look, I’m a fucking asshole -”

Lacey snorts. “Yeah, that’s a word for it.”

His lips quirk and he nods. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry, alright? I should have brought it up sooner, but it’s -” He waves a hand and then ran it through his hair, falling back against the sofa.

“Hard,” she sighs, fiddling with the cuff of her shirt. He looks good in his white shirt and dark jeans, and that annoys her. “I know.” Then she shrugs and met his eyes. “My mom.”

He nods again. “Gloria was a force in my life. Like gravity. Steady, inevitable -,” he pause and huffs. “And fucking complicated.”

Lacey gives a short laugh and then wipes at her eyes. “I’m sure she was great.”

Rush smiles. “Yeah. But she’s not here anymore, and I - I didn’t even realize I’d come to terms with that until I left. I went home and - “ He shrugs. “It wasn’t right. It didn’t feel like it used to.” 

He reaches out, hesitantly, and puts his hand over hers. After a few seconds, Lacey looks up and turns her hand over, letting him thread his fingers through hers. 

“What did it feel like?” she asks.

Rush swallows hard and closes his eyes as his vision blurs. He feels himself squeeze Lacey’s hand and hers squeeze back. It grounds him in the moment and the lump in his throat eases.

“Nick?”

He opens his eyes and shakes his head. “Like a house,” he says simply. “Just - a house.” Lacey frowns at him. “I always used to think of it as home, our home. Mine and Gloria’s. Maybe even more hers than mine sometimes, but - it’s gone. _She’s_ gone.”

Lacey squeezes his hand again. “It’s okay, Nick. I know you love her, and I’m - I’m not -”

“No,” he snaps, shifting abruptly so he is facing her, his leg pulled up on the cushion between them. “No it’s - it’s not that,” he tries to explain, his hands clenching and opening in the air between them as he fights to keep them and himself still. It won’t do to start pacing and waving his hands now. 

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, opening them again as he exhales between his lips. “I mean, _yes_ , I love her, but - she’s not _you_.”

She feels like she’s sinking into the couch, like her very existence is unraveling because nothing matters. Next to the specter of Gloria she is nothing, she is not enough. Her bottom lip trembles and no sooner does she open her mouth to speak than Rush’s lips are on hers. He kisses her firmly, his hands cupping her face, and his lips opening just enough to catch hers. She feels the very tip of his tongue and shudders. When he pulls back his eyes are dark and wild, and she’s pretty sure she’s stopped breathing.

“And you’re not her,” he adds. “And you don’t have to be, so put that out of your head.”

Lacey scoffs. “Yeah, I’m not fucking gravity or whatever.”

Rush shakes his head again. “No, you’re - “ he pauses, his eyes staring into hers, like he wants to fall into them. “A supernova.”

She laughs, and Rush sits back, taking her hands in his as her body shakes slightly. “Right, okay,” she says. “I’m a catastrophic and destructive astronomical event. That sounds about right.”

Fuck if those words from her lips don’t do things to him, but somehow he doesn’t think she really understands. He’s shit at this. This is why he wasn’t able to face the hospital and the doctors and the inevitable. Sure there was Icarus to bury himself in, but that was always just an excuse.

“No that’s - that’s not - _fuck_.”

Lacey snorts. “I get it, Nick.”

“No,” he sighs. “You _don’t_. _You’re_ -” His hands flail at bit as he struggles for words. “Unstoppable.”

Then he brings his fist down on his thigh and takes a breath. “And I love you.”

Her mouth gapes. “What -?”

He loves her. And he thinks she’s unstoppable. Nicholas Rush thinks she's un-fucking-stoppable, like an explosion from a collapsing star. And somehow that’s the best thing anyone had ever said to her or about her.

A lock of hair comes loose from her hair clip as she looks up. “Nick, I -”

He raises a hand and she stops. “You don’t have to say it. It’s - I just needed you to know, and if you don’t, that’s fine. But I went home, all the way back to fucking California, and - and it wasn’t anymore. It wasn’t home.”

He’s jumbling everything now, his brain rapidly trying to catch up to the fucking leap his heart had apparently made without permission. But he barely has a chance to say everything that’s trying to rush out of him before Lacey launches herself into his lap and kisses him, pushing her tongue in his mouth as her legs squeeze his sides. One hand goes in her hair, pulling the clip loose, while the other holds her face and tilts her head to a better angle.

When they finally came up for air, Lacey is grinning. “Shut up, Nick.”

Rush smiles. “You’re distracting me, sweetheart.”

She shrugs one shoulder and bites at his bottom lip, pulling a lovely feral sound from his throat. “Oops.”

He moves to kiss her again but she leans back, pressing one hand to his chest.

She closes her eyes, briefly, and takes a breath. It’s all so obvious now. “I love you too.”

The talking part of the evening is clearly over as Lacey starts unbuttoning his shirt, cursing as she goes.

“Why do you have to wear these fucking button down shirts all the time?”

“I’m a professor,” he snarks, slipping his hands under the hem of her sweatshirt. His fingers dance up her sides until his thumbs are brushing the underside of her bare breasts. No bra. “ _Fuck_.”

She pauses, her fingers holding the second to the last button and gives him a look. “And here I thought it was because you looked so fucking sexy in them.”

He lips quirk and he cups her breasts, making her lose her grip on his shirt when he rubs the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. “I think you’re the only one with that opinion.”

“Mmm,” she hums and arches into his touch. “Does it matter - _oh_ \- if I am?”

Rush stops teasing her nipples, and brings his hands to her waist. “No,” he answers softly. “Yours is the only opinion I give a flying fuck about.”

Lacey grins and pulls the last two buttons of his shirt free before pushing it off his shoulders. “Damn straight, Nicky,” she says, smirking at the way he rolls his eyes.

“Hate it when you say that,” he replies, half smiling. Then he shifts and settles back against the couch, pulling her with him, and groaning as her hips roll into his.

“Obviously.”

She smiles at him, her heart soaring when he grins back, and leans in to kiss him, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her hands. His fingers curl around her hips and pull her closer, his mouth slowly slanting over hers. Her arms slide over his shoulders, one hand coming up to thread through his soft hair as she sink into the kiss. His tongue probes at her lips, seeking entrance, and she gladly opens, letting their tongues slide together.

After a moment, she moves one hand, skimming it down over his stomach and then the bulge in his pants. He moans in response, the sound reverberating straight through her. He pulls her to his chest as his mouth breaks away from hers to run his lips over her jawline. She lets out a small gasp and squeezes her knees on either side of him.

“Nick,” she breathes, and he hushes her gently.

Lacey is lost in the anticipation, heat burning between her thighs, screaming to be sated. They should go to her bed, she thinks, they should do this properly or something. It isn’t every day someone declares they loved her. In fact, it hasn’t ever been any day at all. Everything Garrett said was a lie to get into her pants or get her to stay with him. She can’t say that she’s ever really, truly been in love before right now. That should be sad, given that she’s about to turn twenty-six, that she’s been married. But she doesn’t feel anything except a stupid, flippy feeling in her stomach and an almost overwhelming desire to fuck Nicholas Rush into her lumpy, old couch.

She leans back and reaches down to pull up the hem of her shirt, twisting a bit to get it over her head. Her pelvis grinds against the hard ridge of his cock, her thin leggings no barrier to the wetness between her thighs. His breath hitches and he grunts out a little _‘fuck’_ that makes her smile.

Rush’s fingers dip down to the waistband of her leggings, feeling her muscles tremble beneath his touch. Lacey French is fucking amazing, and he’s still reeling from the fact that she said she loved him too. Given how bleak everything has seemed for the last month, he hadn’t expected such an ending. Especially from himself. But the revelation of his feelings was too much to keep in, like when he knew without a doubt he had the right answer. Oddly, it feels just like it had when he realized he loved Gloria, and there is a strange comfort in that, a rightness in his mind and heart.

Lacey gasps out his name as his hand slips beneath the waistband of her pants and underwear in one deft move. Her fingers curl around his wrist, the other grabbing at his shoulder as his fingers slowly explored her. She can feel the callous on his thumb, created from the pressure of his pencil, as it rubs against her clit. There’s something so erotic about the little rough spots on his hands and fingers as they stroke her sensitive flesh. It reminds her of the scrape of his whiskers when he licks her to a frenzy. Rush has a lot of rough parts, but she loves every one of them. They made him feel so real, so human, like she’s really connected to someone.

“So wet,” Rush hisses close to her ear, his breath dancing over her as he circles her clit.

She cries out as he presses a single digit into her, hips moving earnestly in response to the mounting pleasure.

“Fuck,” she pants, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “Please, please, _please_!” 

She’s close. Her pussy is already fluttering around his finger and then he adds a second, drawing a long moan from her.

“ _Oh_ -” Lacey bites down on her lip, her eyes closed tight as he thumbs at her clit just right and rocks his hand against her, fingers thrusting shallowly. 

That is all it takes.

She cries out as her orgasm hits, her whole body tensing all at once as white dots flash behind her eyelids. It was always intense with Rush before, but this is different. They’re different. Everything is fucking different now that they are officially in love with each other. As the pleasure dulls to a quiet roar in her ears, Lacey smiles and kisses his bare shoulder. Rush is in love with her.

She’s going to have to repeat that to herself a lot.

After a long moment, Lacey lifts her head and looks down at him. “Hey.”

Rush smiles softly. “Hey.”

Then he pulls her down for a kiss that quickly turns desperate and needy. Her hips start moving against his, tormenting his aching cock as she moans against his lips. He feels her hands sliding over his arms and down his chest to fumble with his belt. Eventually she yanks it open, and starts tugging on his zipper.

He grunts and pulls back, lifting his hips so she can eased his jeans and underwear down, watching as she stands up to shuck her leggings. Then she straddles him again and takes his cock in her hand, stroking him firmly and tearing a long, low moan from his throat. The need he feels for her isn't new, but it is different. Before it seemed like only she could fill those hollow places he’d ignored for so long. Now he feels whole, renewed, and free. He feels like he can try giving back what she has given him, that he can let himself love her without reservation, and without the past holding him down.

His head lolls back against the sofa as she twists her hot little hand, smearing precum along his shaft. “Fucking hell, Lace.”

Lacey grins and then kisses him, desperate and messy. She raises up on her knees, breaking the kiss, and guiding his cock to her aching center. She lets the head slip back and forth between her folds until he keens. She gasps against his lips and he licks at her, flicking his tongue over hers, teasing as he lifted his hips. She lets her weight drop and they press together slowly, savoring the slow slide of his cock inside her, and moaning in each others mouths as skin meets skin with nothing between them.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks, panting, and she nods

Lacey bites her lip and moves back just a little, feeling him shift against her slick pussy. He pulls on her hips and slides back in, and she whimpers. _Oh_ , it feels just as good as she remembered.

Rush breaks away from her lips, and presses his forehead to hers. His eyes gaze into hers as he rolls his hips up, lifting her and letting gravity draw her back down. Everything hot and tight, wet and soft.

“ _More_ ,” she begs, running her fingers through his long hair as she rocks into his movements. Her knees push into the sofa cushions, the textured fabric biting into her skin, but she ignores it and moves her hips as faster.

Rush picks up the pace of his thrusts, using his arms to lift her as best he can, drawing out and slamming into her over and over. 

“So. Fucking. Good,” he gasps, dragging his lips along her collarbone.

Lacey’s hands scrape over his chest, and curl around the back of his neck to hold him close. 

“Oh, Nick,” she moans, her head falling back. “Yes. _Yes!_ ” 

She’s close again, teetering on the edge. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she holds onto him, biting down on her bottom lip. Then she feels his hand between them, his thumb seeking and finally pressing against her clit. Her mouth falls open in a silent scream, everything so intense she can’t make more than a squeaky little gasp. The pulsing of her cunt brings him over the edge just after, and the look on his face in that moment is enough to make her tremble all over again. 

He looks relaxed for the first time since she met him. Not even a whole six pack of beer, or the exhaustion after 30 hours in his office scribbling on the whiteboard has made his jaw go slack like that. When he looks at her, his eyes are dark, but glowing in the low light, more open than she’s ever seen. In that moment, Nick Rush is an open book to her, and she feels tears well up in her eyes.

“So, you love me, huh?”

Rush nods. “Aye, I do.” Then he gives her a lopsided grin. “Maybe next time we’ll make it to the bed. Or even out of our clothes.”

Lacey laughs and kisses, her thumbs stroking the soft whiskers on his cheeks. “Maybe,” she says. Then she turns serious and sighs. “Where do we go from here?”

He brushes her hair back from her face, the corner of his mouth curving up. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m not leaving again, without you.”

“Would you stay?” she asks. “Here?”

He shrugs, his thumb brushing lightly over her neck. “Yes. If you wanted.” Then he smirks. “But have you considered moving to California?”

Her head tilts as she considers his offer. “Is the weather nice?”

“Nah,” he scoffs. “It’s shite. In the winter it rains for five days at a time, there’s fog every other morning, and the summer’s too hot to breathe.”

She shakes her head. “Sounds lovely.”

“It is,” he says softly. “The people are nice too, sometimes they even remember to use their fucking blinker before they cut you off.” Then he sighs. “But I have to start class on Monday or Mal really will fire me. I have a return flight tomorrow morning, so if you’re serious -”

She giggles and wraps her arms around his neck, shutting him up as she presses her body against him in a tight hug. It’s a good thing she doesn't have much she cares about here, there will be less to pack. “Yes,” she whispers into his neck. “Fuck this place.”

His arms come up to hold her, marveling at how perfect everything feels. Gloria was right, some people never had what they’d had, but somehow Nicholas Rush has been lucky enough to find it twice. And he’s never letting it go again.


End file.
